


and someday soon the world will notice me

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Gen, There's a surprise cameo at the end, implied David Jacobs/Jack Kelly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: Jack Kelly has a honey-sweet, compelling voice and can get pretty much anyone to do anything.David Jacobs is a planner, whose strategies come so instinctively that he can't even explain how or where they come from.Together, they're going to change the World.
Relationships: David Jacobs & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs & Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Jack Kelly & Katherine Plumber Pulitzer
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	and someday soon the world will notice me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShanElinKerry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanElinKerry/gifts).



> I don't have a good reason for the existence of this fic, but here we are. This is Newsies But The Newsies Are Demigods, end of concept. I don't know. Also I want to be clear that this isn't just sort of vaguely inspired by PJO, the idea is that this and the events of the PJO/HOO series actually happen in the same timeline. This is just, like, what half-bloods were up to at the turn of the century.   
> Title is from My Grand Plan from the Lightning Thief musical!!
> 
> Dedicated to my dear friend Shannon, because I love her and both newsies and pjo are things I associate with her.

“Use your wit, David,” Mama says cryptically as he and Les leave for their first day as newsies. “You’ve been blessed.”

“Right, Mama,” says David, “I will.”

\--

Romeo tugs Jack back by the back of his shirt, laughing. “Back to the bench, slugger. You struck out!”

“Oh, I’m _crushed_ ,” Jack replies, also laughing.

“Aw, did Jacky’s little trick not catch the pretty girl’s eye?” Race teases.

Jack flips Race’s hat down onto his face.

“Ah, don’t be such a sore loser,” Race says, batting his hand away. “It’s good for you to get shot down every once in a while. You and Romes gotta know what it’s like for the rest’a us.”

“I get shot down like every time!” Romeo protests.

“Shut up,” says Specs. “We all know you’re annoyingly irresistible.”

Jack lets the boys dissolve into their usual good natured bickering, not bothering to intervene, thinking back on his brief conversation with the girl.

Yeah, alright, it was _weird_ to have someone honest-to-God completely brush him off. Usually it’s a halfhearted move at best, with at least a humoring laugh or something. Nobody can resist fully when he actually turns on the charm.

But the thing that’s got Jack kind of reeling is the way her eyes – clear sky blue, almost electric – had clouded over like a storm before she spoke, threatening danger before she even opened her mouth.

And the way when she poked him in the center of his chest, just for a fraction of a second, he’d felt a shock like her fingertip was a live wire.

It was strange, and Jack’s going to be thinking about it all day.

\--

_Use your wit_ , Mama had said. Too bad wit doesn’t help when you’re just genuinely bad at something. Maybe it’s David’s own resistance to lying working against him, though, because Les is fucking _excelling_.

“You’ve just gotta bend the truth a little, make it sound a little more enticing,” says Jack. “And turn on the charm.”

“I haven’t got any of that,” David replies flatly. Jack, though, Jack has charm in spades.

Just this morning, Jack’s charm had won David himself over – David had been reluctant to tie himself up with another newsie, to take as bad a deal as Jack was trying to offer, but the help wasn’t entirely unwelcome and Jack had a smile that David just couldn’t say no to, try as he might.

Jack laughs. “Sure you do.”

“I’m not a customer, Jack, you don’t have to go making up headlines for me,” David says, his tone dry.

“You’re goddamn hilarious is what you are,” says Jack, which sends a little flutter through David. “Look, Davey, you ain’t as cute and little as your baby brother, so you can’t work that angle. Bend the headlines where you gotta, and use that pretty face and a little flattery to your advantage.”

_Pretty?_

“I think we’ve just got to accept that I’m a shit newsie and Les is going to carry us through this.”

“Hey, hey,” says Jack, and there’s something _different_ about his voice that David can’t place. “You’re going to get better at this, okay? This is only your first day. You can do this.”

“I can do this,” David echoes softly.

Jack nods, patting David on the shoulder.

\--

Jack has an eye for pretty things. It’s his god-given gift as an artist, to find or imagine pretty things and get them to paper.

And this reporter girl, _oh,_ is she a pretty thing. So is Davey, really, though Jack hasn’t had a chance to sketch him yet, all sharp contrast with the dark swoopy curls and the pale, angular face.

But David’s not in front of him, reporter girl is. Reporter girl is softer than David, with a rounder face and looser curls. Jack finds himself wishing, as he draws her, that he had some kind of color, because color feels like the only way to really capture her.

Red hair, shiny like a new penny, falling loosely across her cheek as she leans down to scribble on her notepad.

Fair cheeks, flushed from embarrassment or annoyance or maybe just the heat of the summer evening in the high-up box.

Blue eyes, stormy and electric, so bright that Jack can see them clearly even in the dim half-light of the theatre seats.

“What are you doing?” she says, and suddenly that electrifying gaze is pinned right on him.

Jack, startled, makes a little shushing gesture with his drawing hand. “Hey, quiet down, there’s a show going on!”

“You are the most impossible boy –“

“ _Shh_ ,” Jack says, and it comes out in that way it sometimes does, the way people can’t say no to.

“Ever!” she finishes in a whisper.

Jack chuckles to himself, setting his sketch on the unoccupied seat for her to find later.

He goes looking for the Jacobs boys again – at least _Davey_ seems to like his company.

Well, at least he’s starting to.

\--

When the price of papers gets raised, a few things happen.

One: David’s heart sinks to somewhere near his feet. They can’t afford this.

Two: Jack jumps up onto a crate and starts trying to pull together a plan. Jack, David becomes quickly aware, is not a strong planner. Great leader, great speaker, but there’s more to a strike than pretty words.

Three: David hears his mother in his ear. _Use your wit, David_. He meets Les’s eyes – the same steel grey as his own, just as determined – across the group. Les nods, just a fraction. A confirmation, though David isn’t sure of what.

“It doesn’t matter,” David says, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s too new to go making suggestions about how the other boys handle this, so he’s got to be strategic. His gut instinct is that if he makes it a _challenge_ , almost a dare, Jack will rise to it. “You can’t strike. You’re not a union.”

“What if I says we is?” Jack replies, stepping right up into David’s face. They’re maybe ten inches apart.

David is taller than Jack, he notices, though not by much. Jack makes up for it in every possible way.

“There’s a lotta stuff you gotta have to be a proper union,” David says, still aiming for a flippant, challenging tone. It’s pretty far from his normal, but he can’t afford to drop it. “Like membership.”

“Oh,” says Jack, rolling his eyes. He waves back across the group. “And whaddya call these guys?”

A few of the boys wave, one whistles, at least two say “Hel _lo_ ,” in mock-offended tones. Les, still at the center of the group with Race’s hands on his shoulders, sticks his tongue out.

“And officers,” David leads, and he knows he’s slipping a little but Jack seems to be on board.

“I nominate Jack president!” Crutchie calls.

“Aw, gee, I’m touched,” Jack says without turning around. His eyes are still fixed on David’s, and David is going a little dizzy with it. Softly, he adds, “What else?”

“How about a statement of purpose,” David offers. They’re working _together_ , now, David can feel it.

“Musta left that in my other pants,” Jack says, a confrontational note edging back into his voice.

“What’s a statement of purpose?” Race says. It’s not the bright, teasing tone David is getting used to from him – he sounds younger, scared.

David tears his eyes from Jack’s, leaning over slightly to look at Race over his shoulder. “A _reason_ for forming the union.”

“Now you’re just playin’ dumb,” Jack growls, too low for the other boys to hear. David raises an eyebrow, challenging. When he speaks again, it’s full volume. “Well what reasons did the trolley workers have, huh?”

“I don’t know,” David admits. “Wages, work hours, safety on the job?”

“Well, who don’t need that?” says Jack. He steps, if possible, closer. “Hey, I bet if your _father_ had a union, you wouldn’t need’a be out here sellin’ papes in the first place, would’ja?”

“Yeah –“

“ _So,_ ” Jack says, backing away and turning toward the boys again, “our union is hereby formed to watch each other’s backs! Unioned we stand – hey, that’s pretty good, somebody write that down.”

Les pops up next to him. “I’ve got a pencil!”

“Well meet our secretary of state!” Jack says.

“Wouldn’t our strike be a little more effective if somebody in charge knew about it?” Crutchie pipes up.

“Well I’d be happy to tell Weasel myself!” Race says, jumping to his feet.

“Hey, and who tells Pulitzer?” says Jack. “Huh? Davey?”

When David turns to fully look at Jack again, he finds Jack staring back at him. There’s something heavy about his gaze.

David knows, instinctively, that this means his plan has worked. Jack is waiting for _his_ support, his go-ahead, before jumping in any deeper.

Holy shit.

“I suppose _you_ do, Mister President,” David says, trying not to give away just how relieved he is. He aims for a tone of near-annoyance, but Jack’s grin tells him he doesn’t quite achieve it.

_“We_ do,” Jack corrects as David crosses back to him. He waves a hand between the two of them, and David could almost imagine that the entire world has melted away beyond their little bubble.

That’s… dangerous.

“So what do we tell him?”

\--

Katherine knows a good story when she sees one, and this is a hell of a story. But more than that it’s a _chance_ – one no one else is likely to take, one no one else is likely to give her.

“Have you always been their leader?” she asks the boy who she saw at the theatre last night, the charming son of Aphrodite who never seems to turn his talents off.

“Me?” Jack replies, proving Katherine wrong no sooner than she has the thought. Rather than honey sweet charm, his voice is flat and nearly bitter. “I’m just a blowhard. Now Davey – he’s the brains.”

“Modesty is not a quality I would’ve pinned on you,” Katherine blurts. She’s kicking herself for it immediately. Talk about unprofessional.

Jack huffs a laugh. “You got a _name_?”

“Katherine,” she replies, tacking on, “Plumber,” after a moment’s hesitation.

“What, ain’t you sure?” Jack asks, his tone pulling teasing.

“It’s my byline, the name I publish under.”

Jack gives that a little hum of understanding. Katherine wonders just how many of the newsies are using false names, even beyond their nicknames. Who _is_ Jack Kelly?

“What are you hoping to accomplish tomorrow?” Katherine asks, returning her attention to her notepad.

“I’d rather tell you what I’m hoping for _tonight_ ,” Jack says.

Katherine has to resist the urge to physically wave the charmspeak off. Gods, she’s never met a child of Aphrodite this powerful.

“Mr. Kelly,” she says firmly. “If you could _stop_. That trick doesn’t work on me.” She exhales hard through her nose. “You know, I’m surprised we’ve never met before now.”

“Ain’t exactly like we run in the same circles, Plumber,” says Jack, tipping his head to one side.

“That’s what surprises me,” says Katherine. “You’re clearly a powerful demigod – why haven’t I seen you at camp?”

“Now you’re just talkin’ nonsense,” Jack says. “The hell’s a demigod?”

“You cannot possibly convince me that you’re as skilled a charmspeaker as you are and _completely_ untrained,” Katherine tells him. The very idea. “I have spent my whole life in rooms full of demigods, Mr. Kelly. I _know_ what you and the other newsies are.”

“Hey –“

“Are you familiar with Ancient Greek mythology, Jack?” Katherine asks, her brow furrowing. He _can’t_ not know – can he?

Jack scrunches his nose. “Right.” He sighs. “Look, Miss Plumber, I know who my mother is, if that’s what’cha gettin’ at. Didn’t think there was no fancy word for it, r’anything. But’cha can’t go askin’ about this shit. My kids’s safer if they don’t know.”

“But you haven’t been to camp?” Katherine asks.

“Dunno what camp your talkin’ about, Miss,” Jack says. It occurs suddenly to Katherine that she’s only ever seen demigods of… similar social standing to herself training there. She’d never thought much of it. “Please, Katherine, don’t ask me about it anymore. I’ll lay off the tricks.”

“It’s called charmspeak,” Katherine says quietly. “And you’re very, very good at it, Mr. Kelly. It’ll be to your advantage tomorrow.”

Jack hums. “S’that mean you’re like me, then? Like us? A pretty high society gal like you, a _bastard child_?”

“We don’t generally discuss it as such,” says Katherine. She feels a little electrical spark building in her fingertips, the way it tends to when she’s annoyed. She balls her hands into fists, willing it to dissipate. “But yes, I suppose so.” She pauses, tipping her head to one side. “You seem to have made some assumptions about my social status.”

“I know I ain’t wrong, Miss,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “Sure, you got a job, but it ain’t the kinda job a gal who _needs_ to work gets, you know?”

Katherine presses her mouth into a thin line. “We’re getting off-topic, Mr. Kelly.”

Jack snorts. “A’right, a’right.”

“Tomorrow, Jack, what are you hoping for? What are you planning?”

“Today,” Jack says slowly, “we stopped sellin’. Tomorrow, we stop the wagons distributing to the rest’a the city.”

“Ambitious,” says Katherine, making a note. “Are you scared?”

“Pssh, scared,” Jack scoffs. His face falls. “But ask me again tomorrow.”

“Good answer,” Katherine replies. She’s got enough now, and she doesn’t want to drag this out any longer. The longer she talks the Jack, the more likely he figures out who her father is.

Or worse, who raised her.

“I’ve got enough,” she says. She starts walking away, her eyes on her notepad. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey, hey – where you goin’, it ain’t even supper time yet!” Jack protests.

Katherine turns, laughing. “Tomorrow, Jack. But off the record?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

Jack smiles, not the full-on Aphrodite boy charm, just a regular awkward teenage boy smile. It’s charming in its own, more genuine way. “Thanks.”

Katherine starts walking again, and she makes it about halfway down the block before she hears Jack’s voice again, carrying with practiced ease.

“Hey, Plumber! Write it good!”

\--

On the list of things David did _not_ expect to do today, right along with _start a fucking strike_ , is stare down the most intimidating person under five-foot-six he’s ever met.

“What’s this, Jackie-boy?” Spot asks Jack without turning his head. He’s staring up at David, his gaze cold. “Some kinda walkin’ mouth?”

“Yeah,” says Jack. “A mouth with a brain, and if you’ve got half’a one yourself you’ll listen to what he’s got to say.”

Spot’s hands are in his pockets. He’s no less than eight inches shorter than David, but makes up for it with sheer stubbornness.

His eyes are steel grey, familiar.

They’re currently narrowed, studying David carefully. Suspiciously.

“Tell’im, Davey,” Jack prompts, elbowing David’s side.

“We – Manhattan – started the strike, but we can’t do this alone,” says David. Spot crosses his arms, leaning back a bit. David is reminded, somewhat absurdly, of the last time he tried to sway Sarah into helping him with his chores. “We’ve sent messengers to all the groups of newsies.”

“So I’ve heard,” Spot says flatly.

“Thing is,” says David, improvising, “all the rest’a the city’s newsies are looking to Brooklyn to know whether’r not they should help us. They’re all waiting to see what Spot Conlon’s gonna do. You’re the key to all this.”

Spot hums. “That so?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” David says. “Look, Spot, you gotta join us, okay? You _gotta_. This all is bigger than just you or me or a couple’a pennies.”

“You’re right, Jack,” Spot says, still not looking away from David. “Brains.” He straightens up, tucking his hands into his pockets. Finally, finally, he breaks eye contact with David to look over at Jack. “But I got brains too, and more’n just half’a one. How do I know you idiots ain’t gonna cut and run at the first sign’a trouble, huh? I can’t go riskin’ my boys on a whim of Jack fuckin’ Kelly’s.”

“But –“ David starts. Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“What can we do to prove we’re in this for real, Spotty?” Jack says, an almost sickly sweet edge to his voice. “C’mon, we need you with us.”

Spot waves him off. “Can it, Kelly, that ain’t gonna work on me. We’ll wait. If I hear you boys didn’t fold at the first sign’a trouble, I’ll reconsider joinin’ your cause.”

Jack looks like he’s going to protest, but David puts a hand on his arm.

“That’s all we need from you, Spot,” David says firmly. “Think about it.”

Spot eyes him seriously.

Nods.

“ _Thank you_ , Spot,” David says, nudging Jack away.

\--

For the first time in his life, Jack is lost for words.

He looks across the crowd of dejected newsboys at Davey, who stares back, lost.

“Davey,” he says, with the barest hint of his usual charm laced through it, “you tell’em.”

“ _Jack_ ,” says Davey.

Jack just meets those clear grey eyes, pleading.

Davey sighs, rolling his shoulders back. Then he makes a beeline for Race, putting a hand on his shoulder and speaking in a low voice.

Davey isn’t naturally boisterous or convincing the way Jack can be, the way Jack’s talents are failing him right now. But he’s –

It’s hard to put a finger on, honestly. But as Jack watches Davey walk around amongst the boys, watches spirits slowly rising with his every word, he can feel it.

It feels just like it did yesterday morning, staring Davey down across this very yard. Jack just knows deep in his very core that Davey has a plan, that Davey knows what he’s doing, that Davey can get them through this.

“ _Jack_ ,” Davey says, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t – I can’t –“

“I hear you,” Jack replies. He puts a hand on Davey’s shoulder. Raising his voice, speaking to the other boys, Jack starts to feel the momentum building. He can see in each and every face that something is changing, and Jack –

Jack’s pretty sure that, for once, it’s not _his_ voice making the difference.

When Katherine shows up with her photographer, Jack feels on top of the fucking world. It feels, for just a minute, like they can actually pull this thing off.

And then he falls off of the cliff.

Distantly, Jack notices that the level of response to their strike is more than a little bit overkill – they’re outnumbered by cops and other rough looking adults almost three to one. This thought is almost immediately overwhelmed by _fuck, no, no, no –_

Because Jack’s boys are getting hurt and it’s his fault, he led them into this. Because _Davey_ – clever, quick-witted, brand-fucking-new Davey – is hurt, because Les is hurt, because he can’t see Race or Albert anymore, because Romeo is still crumpled on the ground too far for Jack to reach, because _Crutchie_ is screaming for Jack, for anyone, and Jack is fucking paralyzed.

He wants to help, he’s desperate to help, but he _can’t_. He can’t overpower Snyder and the Delanceys and he’d just end up dragged off to the Refuge, too, and he just – he can’t.

There’s a heavy weight of guilt growing in his chest as he runs away.

\--

“I’m doing the best I can, Davey,” Specs says in a low voice, “but I really don’t have Crutchie’s touch for this.”

“I know,” says David, “I know. Just do what you can, alright? We don’t need everyone whole, just healing.”

Specs nods, and before he can say anything else one of the younger boys cries out in pain and he rushes over, leaving David where he stands.

Specs is the third person to say something along these lines to David. The first was Buttons, who’d come up to David on the verge of tears because Smalls was still bleeding and _Crutchie’s usually the one to patch us up, Dave, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong._ The second had been Race, who’d been humming as he moved through the group, who’d confessed quietly, _Crutchie always sings it when he’s pullin’ somebody back together, I thought it might help calm the boys down._

They’re all feeling the absence of Jack, too, of course. Nobody knows where Jack ran to, nobody’s seen him in hours.

But it’s _different_ with Crutchie. David hadn’t realized how much Crutchie holds the group together until he was ripped away from them. Jack may be their leader, but Crutchie – with his sunshine smile and his hands that seem to be able to fix anything if the boys are to be believed – keeps them going.

David sighs.

He doesn’t know what to do, but the others keep asking him for advice and direction and a _plan_. And for once in David’s life, he doesn’t know what that plan ought to be.

For now, he just needs to get these boys through the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow will dawn brighter.

\--

Sure, Katherine knows Jack more-or-less confirmed that there are more than a few demigods among the newsies, but it’s not until she spends some real time with them as a group that it hits her just _how many_ of the Manhattan newsies are demigods.

She can’t help wondering why, and why she’s never encountered any of them at Camp, and yet – maybe it’s not such a mystery. For families that are already scraping by, a kid who draws the kind of potential danger a demigod does could put them over the edge. Not to mention the fact that there’s no small amount of shame and scandal in having a child outside of one’s married relationship, which by definition all demigods are. An unmarried woman alone would have a hard time supporting any child, let alone a supernaturally powerful one that attracts monsters.

And as for never seeing them at Camp… she wouldn’t be surprised if families like hers are the reason for that.

_We can’t go exposing our young heroes to people like **that** , _she can almost hear her mother say, while her father nods sternly. _Training like yours is only for exceptional young men and women._

Exceptionally wealthy, that is.

And since the families support the Camp financially, well – they tend to get what they want.

Anyway.

Families like hers can make Camp unwelcoming to kids like these, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist, and Katherine is surer than sure that she’s standing in a room full of demigods right now.

Specifically, she’s sitting on a table in a deli, watching a sixteen-year-old boy whip everyone into an excitable frenzy over their front page article.

The boy in question, whose name she’s been told is _Racetrack_ of all things though most of the others cheering him on are opting for Race or Racer instead, has a very familiar glint of mischief in his eye, with a quick mouth and quicker feet. If he’s not one of Hermes’s, Katherine will eat Race’s hat.

Davey, perched next to Katherine on the table, is watching the whole thing unfold. She watches his gaze track Race around the room, sees the calculating expression creeping onto his face.

“What are you thinking about, Davey?” Katherine can’t help asking.

“Racer is really fucking smart,” says Davey.

Katherine snorts. “Yeah?”

Davey nods toward the chaos. “We’d been trying to pick up the pieces of yesterday for hours, but once you walked in with the paper, it took Race about four seconds to make a plan and execute it. _I_ couldn’t even – I mean.” He runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it fluffed and out of place in their wake. “He’s smart and he’s fast about it. I want to use that.”

“Spoken like a true son of Athena,” Katherine says. It’s a risk, but a calculated one.

Davey’s head whips toward her so fast it probably hurts. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I’ve met a few in my day,” Katherine says. She hums, then taps her own chest. “Zeus.”

“You fuckin’ with me, Plumber?” says Davey, one eyebrow raised so high it’s threatening to disappear into his hair. It catches Katherine somewhat off guard – Davey seems a little more uptight, for want of a better word, than the rest of the boys. More the type to have been taught How to Talk to a Lady.

“I wish I were, trust me,” replies Katherine. “Is Les –“

She trails the name up into a question, leaving the rest unsaid.

Davey nods slowly. “And our sister Sarah. She favors our family, Mama says. Les doesn’t know yet.”

“Three of you in one family?” Katherine says.

“I’ve met her a few times,” says Davey, “she still likes to come around and talk with Mama and Papa for hours and hours every once in a while, although I once heard her promise them there’d be no more of us.”

Katherine laughs. “I’m the only one in my family. Mother says my unnaturally strong constitution is all that kept me from dying of pneumonia when I was a child, but I don’t know that that’s really –“

“Davey!” Race breaks in, and there’s a tense edge to his voice that he’s doing a commendable job of hiding. “What about you?”

“Racer –“

“Nope! Participation is non-optional, what do you want from bein’ famous?”

He pushes the paper Katherine brought into Davey’s chest.

Now he’s close, Katherine can see the way he’s hanging by a thread more clearly than when he was fluttering around the room. Davey hesitates, still, and Race lets out a little sound that might almost be _please_ , and Davey sighs.

“I want our _star reporter_ here to get her due,” Davey says, passing the paper over to Katherine. “A promotion! Her own desk! Front page every week!”

Race laughs, high and bright.

“Davey’s right!” he crows. _“_ Screw the rest’a you idiots – Kathy Plumber’s the goddamn King of New York!”

\--

Jack didn’t want to be found, but at the same time there’s something to be said for being known enough that the people looking for him knew exactly where to go.

There’s something to be said for _Davey_ knowing him well enough after just a handful of days to find him.

Still –

“No, no, no, I’m not going back out there, are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Jack says, shoving Davey squarely in the chest. “Crutchie’s in the fucking Refuge, Davey! The boys’s hurt –“

“How do you know, huh?” Davey replies. He crosses his arms. “Jack, you haven’t been around! S’been me and Racer pickin’ up the pieces, and you’ve been hiding in the goddamn wings! Do you think giving up is gonna help Crutchie, Jack? Really?”

“I –“

“It won’t!” Davey cuts in, heated. “It won’t and you _know_ it won’t! So we push on, we keep fighting, and once we win – and we _will_ be winning –“

“We’ll be _what?”_ Jack says incredulously.

“We’re already winning, Jack, that’s what I’m telling you!” Davey’s hands fly to Jack’s shoulders, gripping him firmly. Davey’s stronger than Jack would’ve expected.

“Yeah, sure,” says Jack.

“Jackie,” Davey says, softer now. He’s still holding on. “Think about it. Why would they send out a whole fucking _army_ for a couple of kids if they weren’t absolutely terrified of what we can do?”

And Davey is so _sure_ , it shakes Jack to his core. Davey’s voice is steady, his grip is strong, his face is set in a determined expression. This close, Jack can see the steely grey of Davey’s eyes glinting in the stage lights.

(Those eyes with that flat, certain frown reminds Jack almost _scarily_ of Spot Conlon.)

Jack knows Davey can back that certainty up, too. They haven’t known each other long, but he knows that Davey looks before he leaps, knows he plans everything he does, knows that Davey would not look at Jack and tell him so surely, solidly, that they can do this unless he really deeply believed that they can.

He’s got the same challenging note in his voice as he had the other day, talking Jack into doing this strike thing right.

“You might be right,” Jack concedes.

“Oh, thank God,” says Davey. He pulls Jack in by the shoulders for a hug, squeezing him tightly but so briefly that by the time Jack thinks to reciprocate Davey is already pulling away. “Come on, Jack, we have work to do.”

\--

Katherine is already having a very bad afternoon before Jack shows up.

There’s a storm brewing outside, and she knows she’s the one causing it and worse, she knows her father – Joseph, of course, the mortal one – knows she’s the one causing it, given the stern looks he keeps shooting her way.

She’s being told off at length for standing with the newsies. She expected as much, really.

And then Jack arrives and she’s _hidden,_ all so that her father can use her as a pawn in his strategy to destabilize the strike.

Katherine is shaking with fury and fear as Joseph whips her chair around, revealing her to Jack. She sees the pure betrayal in Jack’s eyes and lightning flashes outside.

She didn’t think anything could be worse to see on Jack’s face until Mr. Snyder walks into the room, Joseph’s other big reveal. Jack looks _terrified_ , shaken so deeply the floor could’ve crumbled underneath him and Katherine doesn’t think he’d have noticed.

Jack throws Katherine half a glance, disgusted, when Joseph implies that _she’d_ told him about Jack’s dream of moving west.

“I know you’re Mr. Tough Guy,” Joseph says, clearly delighting in the distress he’s causing, “but it’s not right to condemn that poor crippled boy to conditions like that. And what about your pal Davey and his little brother? Ripped from their family and thrown to the rats?”

Jack blanches. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out.

“You wouldn’t do that to your partner, would you?” Joseph continues. “You’re a responsible boy, I think you’ll do the right thing. But I’ve got just the place to let you think it over.”

And then Jack is dragged away by those awful boys who work at the distribution yard, followed at a sedate, almost lazy pace by Joseph and his men.

Joseph pauses in the doorway, turning back over his shoulder to fix Katherine with a cold glare. “This storm is to end, Katherine. And once it does, you’ll be walked home by one of my assistants and you won’t see the light of day until you’ve thought better of your _mistakes_.”

He leaves without a second glance, but Katherine makes sure the next thunderclap shakes the building just for good measure.

\--

David isn’t sure what it is Jack is doing, but he can _feel_ it. He knows Jack has an uncanny talent for getting people to listen to him, but he’s never seen it like this.

Usually, Jack’s voice is honey-sweet, easy to listen to and easy to agree with.

It’s no less compelling than usual, now, but there’s a note in it so bitter David can almost taste it.

It’s suffocating.

He can’t _breathe_.

As soon as Jack ends his little speech – a cold, bitter echo of the one he gave a few mornings ago – the spell of his voice breaks and chaos breaks out. Spot Conlon shoves Jack and sends him stumbling for the wings, where a man David has never seen before is waiting for him.

The man presses a stack of cash into Jack’s hands, just near enough to the stage that every newsie in the room can see it.

Les darts around David, bolting for Jack, but as soon as he reaches him, the older boy startles and makes as if to take a swing at him. At _Les_ , of all people. Les who Jack took under his wing without a second thought, Les who Jack treats like his own.

There’s real fear in Les’s eyes even as Jack reaches for him as if to apologize. Les runs from him, caught by Race in a one-armed hug.

Jack meets David’s eyes, and David’s heart stops.

“Davey,” Jack says, and it’s soft but David can hear it even over the cacophony of the newsies.

It’s sweet again, pleading, the bitter edge completely gone.

David feels like he’s going to be sick.

Jack runs.

For a long moment, David feels like he’s floating in space, out of time. And then Spot Conlon’s hand is on his shoulder and he slams back into the present.

“Davey,” he says, rough around the edges, “what’s the plan now?”

“What?” says David.

“The _plan_ , Davey,” Spot reiterates. “What now? I ‘sume we ain’t gonna give up just ‘cause Kelly turned traitor. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t – why me?” David asks, lost.

Spot raises one eyebrow, fixing David with an appraising look. “Well, you’re the idea guy, ain’cha? This strike’s all you.”

“It’s not,” says David. “Jack –“

“Fuck Jack Kelly,” Spot says, crossing his arms. “David. I know I got a reputation for force, but I know a strategist when I see one.”

He cocks his head to one side, those steely grey eyes catching the light.

“I know family when I see it, too,” Spot continues. “Do you?”

Slowly, David nods. “I do.”

“ _So_ ,” says Spot, punching David’s shoulder a little harder than he probably needs to, “what’s the plan?”

\--

Plan in hand, Jack is nothing short of desperate to talk to Davey.

Because it’s all well and good to have an idea, an article, even a place to print it, but without Davey, Jack knows he won’t have the boys. Jack has obliterated any trust they had in him before, and not even his most charming words will win them back.

And without the boys, they might as well give up the whole thing.

He’s more than a little bit surprised when he finds Davey on the lodging house fire escape with Spot and Race, talking in low voices with their heads together.

“Davey?” he says, and it comes out choked.

Davey stiffens.

Spot stands up. “What’cha want, Kelly?”

“Davey, I’m sorry,” Jack says, looking past Spot. It’s not hard, since Jack has a few inches on Spot and he’s not fully between Jack and Davey anyway. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Spot repeats, poking Jack square in the center of his chest. “That some kinda joke?”

“No, it’s the truth,” Jack insists. He knows he sounds raw and generally terrible, but he’s careful to curb the _charm_. He has a gut feeling that Davey, like Katherine, recognizes when he’s doing it, and he doesn’t want Davey to feel like he’s being manipulated into forgiving him.

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Jackie,” Davey says without looking up. He sounds so fucking _tired_ , and the guilt of the whole thing threatens to eat Jack alive.

“Kath came up with a plan to save the strike,” Jack blurts. “And I – Davey, look at me?”

Davey’s head snaps up, and Jack realizes too late the thread of _you know you want to do what I want_ that he’d woven into the words. There’s bitter betrayal in his grey eyes.

“Fuck, Dave, wait,” says Jack. He tries to push past Spot, but for a small kid he’s remarkably solid. “Davey.”

“ _What_ , Jack?” Davey spits.

“It was never about the money,” Jack tells him. Wills him to hear the honesty in his voice. “Never, you hear? But Pulitzer threatened the boys, he threatened Crutchie, he –“ Jack swallows, forcing himself not to break eye contact with Davey. “He threatened _you_ , Davey. By name. And I – I can take risks with myself, I can do reckless shit and I can walk into Pulitzer’s office like an idiot, but if I have half a chance to keep _you_ safe? I had to do it, Dave. I had to.”

“You had to know we wouldn’t give up that easy, Jack,” Davey says, shaking his head. “We don’t _need_ you to do this.”

“I know,” says Jack. “I know, but Davey – I had to try.”

Davey lets out this sad little laugh. Spot glances over his shoulder at him, and Race puts a hand on his knee.

“Course you did, Jackie.” He sighs. “What’s this plan of yours, then?”

\--

They come out on top, which after the night David has had feels like nothing short of a miracle. They even get Crutchie back, looking remarkably whole. David pats him on the shoulder briefly before he’s swept into a massive group hug with the boys.

Pulitzer and Jack and Roosevelt are all still talking, but David’s ear catches on Crutchie humming the same song Race was singing to the boys the other day. Only then –

“With the strike settled, I oughtta get movin’ on,” Jack says.

“No,” David says.

“What?”

“No,” repeats David. “You’re not going anywhere, Jack, do you hear me?” He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but he knows he can’t just let Jack walk away. “Where you gonna go, huh? Santa Fe? What’s Santa Fe got New York ain’t got?”

“Your family’s here, Jack,” Crutchie says quietly, coming up on Jack’s other side. “Your _whole life’s here_. I know Santa Fe’s always been the dream, but – ain’t we enough?”

Jack takes a stuttering, shaky breath.

“Yeah,” says Jack. He slips an arm around Crutchie’s shoulders. “Yeah, you boys’re enough. Always have been.” He meets David’s eye. “Davey, I – thanks.”

David nods.

Katherine waves to Jack, drawing him into a quiet conversation. Jack lights up when he hears her voice, and David turns away with an odd weight in his chest.

Race drags David by the hand into the distribution line, and he puts Jack out of his mind, joining in the excitement of having led a group of literal children to victory over the most powerful men in the city.

Papers in hand, he turns back toward the rest of the world. Toward Jack, still deep in conversation with Katherine.

“Jack!” Les shouts from David’s side, his little voice startling Jack out of the little bubble he and Katherine seem to have created for themselves. “Are you in or are you out?”

“Hold your horses, huh?” Jack calls back, digging in his pocket for some coins as he makes his way toward the window. “I was busy!”

“Lessy’s right, Jack, times’a wastin’!” Race teases.

Jack slams his coins down on the desk, taking his papers and shoving them into his bag with a look of pure triumph on his face.

He walks over to David, bumping their shoulders together. “Let’s see if all this talkin’ and convincin’s made you any better at hawkin’ headlines.”

“Shut up,” David says lightly. “Sure you don’t wanna go back to chattin’ up Kathy instead’a spendin’ the day watchin’ me fail?”

“Hey, hey, that’s my partner you’re talkin’ shit about,” Jack replies, grinning. “’Course I wanna spend the day with you, Davey. We stopped the World together – that’s a team I ain’t givin’ up on any time soon.”

“Well I’m glad of the company,” says David. He’s not entirely sure he’s fully forgiven Jack for his betrayal, but he knows in his heart that he will.

“Yeah, yeah, you two are best pals,” Les says. “Now let’s get goin’ or all the good customers’ll be gone!”

David laughs, swatting at Les with his hat, and Jack says, “Alright, shortstack, lead the way.”

They walk out into the world together, and it’s the end of the strike but David has a feeling it’s the beginning of something good.

\--

\--

“You know,” Jason says as the movie ends, “a lot of newsies – like, the real historical ones, were demigods.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” says Jason, shrugging. “A lot of them were orphaned or their families decided they couldn’t handle the risk of raising a half-blood, and the kids ended up fending for themselves. Selling papers was a good way for orphans to support themselves, so…” He trails off, shrugging again.

“And you just knew that off the top of your head?” Nico asks. His tone is light, just barely teasing.

“Half-blood history is _fascinating_ , Nico,” Jason says, mock offended.

“I don’t need to study half-blood history,” says Nico. “I _am_ half-blood history.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who decided he _had_ to be friends with me.”

Jason snorts, undignified. “Did you like the movie or not, Nic?”

“Yeah,” says Nico, patting his arm. “It was terrible, but I liked it.”


End file.
